


5 Times Kurt Found It Hard To Live With Finn (And One Time He Didn't)

by starsandgutters



Category: Glee
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, friendship turning into smut, silly fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-25
Updated: 2011-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgutters/pseuds/starsandgutters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I saw these "5 times + one" fics all around the place, so I thought, why not try my hand at it?</p><p>There are no real spoilers, as it's set between the end of season 2 and the next season. As long as you know that Burt and Carole are married and Kurt is dating Blaine, you're okay. Also, you're in for a bit of sexytimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Kurt Found It Hard To Live With Finn (And One Time He Didn't)

  


**1.**

It wasn’t that Kurt hadn’t gotten over Finn. Because he had, fully and completely. As much as anyone can ever get over anyone else. Even if they’d been desperately in love with that person for years and were now forced to live elbow-to-elbow with him all the time. Still, the days of his old stupid crush were long gone, and now he was in a blossoming relationship with a romantic gay teenager. Kurt was definitely counting that one as a personal success.

So it wasn’t like Kurt hadn’t gotten over Finn. It was just that Kurt was gay and seventeen and hormonal, and Finn was still stupidly handsome. The fact that their parents were married didn’t make it any less true: it was simple biology. Finn would do something trivial, something completely normal and innocent, and Kurt would find his mind going to all sorts of interesting places.

Like today, when he’d stumbled across Finn doing push-ups in the living room. It was nothing special: Finn was still captain of both the football and basketball team, he had to keep fit, so occasionally he trained at home. No big deal, right? Right.

Kurt didn’t often run across it, but this time he’d been on his way to the fridge to grab a Coke, and somewhere along the route he’d found himself standing still and admiring the play of muscle in Finn’s arms as he lowered himself down, then pushed himself up. Finn had nice arms. His shoulders weren’t bad either. Not half bad. Kurt tried to keep it objective. He was just noticing things from an _aesthetic_ point of view. Like the way Finn’s long back tapered to his hips, which were moving up and down, rhythmically. Easy to imagine someone underneath him, as he pounded away— oh, _shit_.

Kurt beat it to the kitchen, letting the cool blast from the refrigerator soothe his burning face.

**2.**

It was no secret that Finn’s voice had always been a turn-on for Kurt. He couldn’t help it: he was an artist, he was naturally attracted to talent. He always appreciated a good performance, whoever it came from, but when it came from a good-looking boy it was like a cherry on top of a luscious sundae.

In that spirit, he definitely loved to listen to Blaine sing. It was sweet and touching and it made him proud. But Blaine’s voice was much like Blaine himself: perfectly educated, suave and groomed. Which was good. More than good.

Finn’s voice was… different. It was scratchy and husky and smoky and sexy. Kurt remembered all too well his infamous performance of _Hello I Love You_ ; it had done funny things to his breathing and heart-rate, and given him his most raging hard-on to memory. In a public place, no less.

That afternoon, when Kurt was up in his room talking with Blaine, and Finn decided it was a good time to rehearse his Glee club assignment, Kurt was pleased. As he said, he appreciated talent. But when he realised Finn was belting out line after line of Carlos Santana’s _Smooth_ , he died a little inside.

He had to sit there and smile and nod and pretend his best to be listening to Blaine while his ears kept focusing on what was going on downstairs and telling his groin to pay sharp attention.

_…I hear you whisper and the words melt everyone, but you stay so cool…_

He could picture the scene in his mind. Finn using a tube of toothpaste as microphone, his eyes half-lidded and oh, _so dark_ , his leg jittering the way it always did when he was lost in a song…

_…I could change my life to better suit your mood, because you’re so smooth…_

Finn’s voice dragged the words out, almost a groan, never losing pitch or intensity. Kurt’s heart jumped and his cock followed suit in his Valentino pants. He covered it up as best he could with the copy of _Vogue_ he’d been leafing through.

_…give me your heart, make it real… or else forget about it…_

Oh, _God_. He was doing it on purpose. It wasn’t even funny anymore.

“Hey, Kurt. Kurt?”

“What?” he squeaked, lifting the magazine to cover his brand new blush.

Blaine looked puzzled. “Nothing, you spaced out on me. Biting your lip and stuff.”

“Oh.” _Oh_. “Sorry, I got distracted. I haven’t picked my own song yet.” He smiled weakly and wondered how much more pathetic he could possibly get.

**3.**

As things were standing, when Burt asked Finn to help him build a storage cabin for garden utensils, Kurt was relieved. He had long since got over his jealousy of his dad’s relationship with Finn – he was actually glad Burt finally had someone who gave a damn about his motocross stories – and the more Finn stayed out of the house, the more Kurt could concentrate on being a good friend who only had chaste thoughts.

How hard could it be? Finn was attractive, but he wasn’t Brad Pitt, for heaven’s sake. It shouldn’t be so hard to keep his head of out his pants and focus on perving on his boyfriend. Or movie stars. Or any guy who wasn’t currently part of his family. But it was still better that Finn was out there in the garden in the scorching sun, and Kurt was inside with air conditioning and magazines and _Project Runway._

Except that then Carole poked her head out of the kitchen and said, “Honey? Could you please bring some iced lemonade out to Burt and Finn? I’m afraid they’re getting dehydrated in this heat.”

Kurt really didn’t want to, but he was a gentleman at heart, and he knew Carole suffered from low blood pressure and would faint in the summer sun. So he covered up his deep sigh as best he could and took the tray from her, receiving a grateful motherly smile that melted his heart a wee bit.

Stepping out of the door was like stepping into an oven. The sun shone bright and hot onto the patch of grass, and Kurt could feel his freckles coming to the fore after five seconds. Damn the summer. He walked over to where the two guys were building the wooden hut, calling out: “Refreshment! Come over, boys!”

His dad had his shirt tied around his waist. Kurt eyed him critically. He needed to start monitoring his father’s work-out sessions before he had another heart attack; true, he was eating better now that someone was cooking him proper meals, but it was no excuse to slack off and gain weight. Kurt would know. When Kurt realised the implication of his dad being shirtless, however, it was too late.

Finn walked out from behind the hut, chest bare and glistening with sweat from all that manly work, a luminous smile on his face. Kurt’s throat went dry in a way that had nothing to do with the blistering heat.

The time it took Finn to reach him was enough for the other boy to notice all the minute details currently displayed: the sweat pooling in the hollow of Finn’s neck; the way he was stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders back, sore from working; his toned pectorals. Kurt tried hard to focus his gaze on the other boy’s stomach, directing all the disapproval he could muster at his less-than-flat abs, but by then it was too late, he was done in and all he could think was, _adorable_. He wanted to smack his brain with a frying pan. Possibly one that had been on the stove for long.

Finn took one glass from the tray Kurt was holding, that same earnest happy grin on his face. “Dude, lemonade! Thanks a bunch!” He downed the whole glass without breathing, head thrown back and eyes closed as his throat worked, shifted, swallowed—

Kurt collected his glass, snatched the other one from his Dad and ran back inside much faster than the summer heat warranted, headed for his room and urgent business.

**4.**

Kurt began to suspect some higher power had it in for him when he ran into a freshly-showered Finn wearing nothing but a towel.

Of course, he supposed he should have seen it coming. Finn’s room didn’t have a communicating bathroom like his own, so he had to cross the corridor to go from one to the other, exponentially increasing the possibilities of contact.

Judging by the look on Finn’s face, he hadn’t predicted it either. He had that stupid-puppy-in-the-headlights expression he always got when he stepped into unforeseen trouble. Kurt steeled himself for the inevitable bolting.

Which did not come.

“Hey, Kurt.”

Something did not compute. Something absolutely did not compute. Kurt did a double take: yep, Finn was still standing there. He still looked uncomfortable, but he was smiling in a friendly way. Kurt remembered he was supposed to answer, so he did, trying to sound his most amiable.

“Hey yourself.”

Finn pointed at the books under Kurt’s arm. “Going over to Tina’s to study?”

Kurt looked at him like he was speaking another language. Was Finn trying to _strike up a conversation_ while standing in front of him in a bath towel? Then suddenly all the pieces clicked into place. Finn was nothing if not earnest, and when he put his heart into something, he gave it all he got. And sure enough, ever since their little “Kurt-is-a-stalker-who-wants-to-see-me-in-the-shower” accident, Finn had been going out of his way to prove how much he did _not_ have a problem with Kurt being gay, whether it meant blindly approving his most outrageous outfits or watching _Grey’s Anatomy_ with him or supporting his relationship with Blaine. Or, apparently, conversing with him in a state of half-nakedness.

Half-nakedness which was getting harder and harder to ignore, because the towel was threatening to slip down at any moment, and Kurt could already see Finn’s hipbones peeking out, more defined than he would have guessed. He tore his eyes back up to Finn’s face, his damp, ruffled hair, his pinkened cheeks— oh for Gaga’s sake.

“Yeah! Um, yes. Chemistry. She gets it much better than I do. And in exchange I’m going to trade her a makeover.”

“Cool.” Finn smiled, mercifully tugging the towel back up.

“Yeah…”

They were running out of small talk, but still Finn stood there, 6’3’’ of uncomfortable, dripping, mostly-naked teenage boy, trying to prove just how much he did not have a problem around Kurt.

Kurt was also running out of places to look. He ignored Finn’s crotch completely, trailing down to his calves, toned from all that running, then his feet, which weren’t huge, but since they were in proportion to the rest of Finn, they were still big, and you know what they say about men with big feet…

“I have to go!” Kurt piped up, his voice much more strangled than he would have liked. “Tina. Chemistry. Makeover.” He stepped back, looking up in what he hoped was an apologetic-for-the-craziness-but-not-creepy-or-suspicious way. “See you later.”

“Yeah.” Finn grinned and waved at him. “Later. Have fun. Or, you know, whatever.”

Or whatever.

Kurt climbed into his Navigator and started banging his head against the steering wheel, upsetting his carefully coiffed hair. Suddenly he hated chemistry, especially the one between human beings.

**5.**

It was the middle of an autumn afternoon, and there was no one at home but him and Finn, so Kurt thought that for once he would allow himself a session of aerobics in the living room to loud music, since neither his father nor Carole could complain about the noise giving them a headache.

He went upstairs to get changed, then cursed softly. Kurt owned exactly one single sport outfit, and it was presently in the washing machine. After much digging, he found a pair of pants that were loose enough to dance in; he decided to go down and ask Finn to lend him a tee-shirt: it would be too big, but at least he wouldn’t be stinking up one of his own shirts. Perhaps it was selfish, but most of Finn’s wardrobe was composed of $15 items, so hey. Lesser evil.

He skipped down the stairs and was raising his arm to knock primly on Finn’s door when something – maybe some sort of primal instinct – stopped him. The door was pulled to all the way, but not properly closed, and a soft noise issued forth from the tiny crack. It was not a noise Kurt had ever heard before, but something inside him recognised it instantly, simply because it was a kind of noise he had heard _himself_ make often enough; a low, panting huff of breath.

His body froze in horror, then went up in flames, then locked up again, sweat rapidly cooling. This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t standing outside Finn’s door while Finn was _jerking off_. No way. This sort of thing just didn’t happen outside of bad movies and Harmony paperbacks.

But for all his pious intentions of denial, there was no mistaking the breathy moan that came from inside the room. Oh, God. Oh, _God_. Finn was totally jerking off. Kurt sucked his breath in, holding it until he thought he would explode. In the eerie silence of the house, he could almost fancy he heard the soft rustle created by the friction of skin-on-skin.

This was all wrong. All wrong. To be standing here at all was an unforgivable intrusion on Finn’s privacy, and just when Finn had been trying so hard to be a good brother to him. Not to mention Kurt had a boyfriend, and he didn’t think about Finn that way anymore. No way, no how was he going there again, not after how hard and painful it had been to get over the other boy. Kurt was going to turn around quietly and tiptoe back upstairs. Kurt was going to ignore what was happening and do his homework, and do it to perfection. Kurt was going to forget about this incident and never dwell on it again.

Kurt lifted his index finger and gingerly pushed the door forward a fraction.

Finn was sitting half-sprawled on the bed, one hand jammed inside his jeans (so he was still clothed, that explained the rustling); his laptop was open and running, set in front of him, but Kurt couldn’t see what was on the screen, which was just as well: he’d stumbled into Finn’s collection of porn sites once and he wasn’t looking forward to ever repeating that experience.

He gave himself a hard mental shake, but it was pointless. If he had had the strength to leave, he would have done so _before_ pushing the door open.

Finn’s cheeks were flushed bright red, his breathing coming hard, and though one half of Kurt found the situation pretty gross, the other half insisted that the boy had never looked more handsome. He watched Finn’s arm start to move faster, his hand concealed by his jeans; they were loose jeans, but the way they were tented over his groin didn’t leave much to imagination, and it turned out Kurt’s speculations hadn’t been far off the mark. His _past_ speculations, he reminded himself.

Finn let his head fall back against the wall, his eyes fluttering closed, and he _groaned_.

Kurt turned away from the door as fast as a whipcrack. He leaned against the wall praying he hadn’t made any noise; he hadn’t heard, couldn’t hear above the blood roaring in his ears. His heart was thundering hard, threatening to find a way out through his ribcage, and for a moment he found himself stupidly hoping that it wouldn’t collapse like his father’s had. He was aware that even though he felt his face on fire, the blood must be rushing in another direction, because he was undeniably, painfully hard.

He gave himself five seconds, five deep breaths, then he ran up the stairs as silently as he could, tripping over his feet twice; he got to his room, and only after he’d shut the door after himself did he let out a choked half-sob.

**And One Time He Didn’t**

Kurt was very annoyed with himself. Also, he couldn’t believe he was reduced to this. Not _now_. Not after everything. It had been 11 months and 24 days since he had jerked off to thoughts of Finn (yes, he had counted, so what?) and now… he couldn’t believe he was about to fall back in. He felt weak and pathetic and _dirty_. Wasn’t it like cheating, in a way? But then he had jerked off thinking of Alex Pettyfer after watching _I Am Number Four_ ; and that didn’t mean he had actually cheated with Alex Pettyfer, right? (He wished.)

Besides, it was not his fault. It was his hormones’, for being so excitable. No. It was Finn’s, for being around him all the time. No, no, it was their parents’ fault, for getting married and forcing them to live in the same house.

_And whose fault was it that they met at all?_

Yeah, okay. But still. He sighed in frustration. This had to be dealt with, and dealt with soon. Ever since he had caught Finn masturbating, he hadn’t been able to look the other boy in the eye. Or think about anything else, for that matter. It would come to him during maths class, making him fumble and drop his pen on the floor. Or he would dream about it at night (so okay, maybe the cheating had already happened, but hey, that was unconscious) and wake up in a mess. Literally.

Kurt swallowed, giving in. He closed his bedroom door. No one was home. Their parents were out on a dinner date, and if Finn came home early from Mike’s place, he would hear. The boy was about as subtle and graceful as an elephant trudging through a pottery store.

He started undressing himself. He preferred to attend to these things naked; not only because it put his clothes out of danger, but also because it felt sexier, somehow; less awkward.

He sat in bed, pulling the sheets over his legs, and took a deep breath. This was the only way. It was the only thing to do with an itch: scratch it, and then forget about it forever. And this thing with Finn, it was nothing but an itch. Kurt was sure. Kurt was more than sure. He had buried any feelings he might have had in the past. He loved another guy. It was only that Finn was sexy, and Kurt was sometimes horny, and old habits died hard. No, it was best to just indulge and then file the problem away.

Kurt gingerly put his hand to himself, stroking lightly. His brain decided on a last-ditch attempt at faithfulness, trying hard to conjure thoughts of petit brunets with good fashion sense and triangular eyebrows, but to no avail. All that would come into his mind were images of strapping jocks and lopsided smiles. He gritted his teeth. Whatever. So be it.

He got a firmer grip and started in earnest. A torrent of vivid thoughts and pent-up frustration rushed to him, the way it always had with one Finn Hudson.

Finn’s hair the way it looked when he took his helmet off, all tousled and post-coital.

Finn’s ass in his tight football pants.

Finn’s kissable moles when he quirked his mouth up, the dimple in his cheek…

No. _No_. He was going to keep this dirty and quick. No feelings involved. Strictly sexual thoughts, please and thanks. He wasn’t going to go there. He _wasn’t_. Going. To go. There.

Finn’s brown eyes, warming up with emotion whenever he was happy about something.

_Damn it_. Kurt groaned in frustration. Why did he have to be so fucking romantic? Why couldn’t he be like Noah Puckerman? And wait, did he actually just think that?

His hand sped up without his brain telling it to. He could hear Finn’s voice, belting out smoky-sweet song lines in his ear. He could remember giving Finn dance lessons, how he had felt the boy’s hand on his hips for hours after they’d stopped. That hand, large and capable and rougher than Kurt’s… and now it was all too easy to imagine it was _that_ hand stroking him, working him to a peak.

Would Finn have found it hot? Of course not, Kurt knew it was other things that did the trick for him, but a long, painful training in denial tactics made it easy to fool himself. Finn would have looked the way he had that afternoon, flushed and aroused and panting, in the same way that Kurt was drawing ragged breaths right now.

He leaned back against the pillows, stroking himself hard. He was still fighting to ignore any thought deeper than 'Finn is hot', but he knew it was a losing battle. Once he went down that particular lane, it was hard to forget how hard and how long he had loved this boy; how many days he had doodled Finn’s name in his books, staring at his neck in class like it was the most beautiful thing in the world; how many nights he had spent curled up in bed crying, _why won’t he notice me?_ ; how many times he had been in his old room doing exactly this, imagining that Finn was with him, Finn was above him, Finn was his first.

With an ache in his chest, he could feel his eyes tearing up even as his cheeks were hot with pleasure. He was sick; he was cursed. It was completely unfair. He gripped himself tighter, squeezing his eyes shut to get rid of the tears and allowing himself the luxury of not thinking for a few moments, as he lost himself to the rhythm of his hand. Up, down, up, down. So good... He was vaguely aware that he was biting his lips so hard they were probably swollen by now; he parted them to draw a shaky breath, then let it out again, as nothing more than a hitching sigh: “Finn…”

“I’m sorry,” said a tiny voice.

Kurt frowned, pausing. Why would his mindvoice apologize to Finn? He had done nothing wrong. Well, apart from perving over him when they were supposed to be friends, but it’s not like it was fun for _him_.

In the moment it took to formulate this thought, his brain sobered up enough to realise the voice wasn’t his mindvoice. It wasn’t his voice at all. It had come from the doorway. Kurt froze and couldn’t bring himself to look. He could feel his heart withering and crumpling in on itself. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t that bad a person; he hadn’t deserved _this_. He felt an onslaught of tears coming to the fore, but thankfully – or not – his throat was too locked up to let them through.

He turned his head slowly. Finn. In the doorway. Impossible. Not fucking possible. Finn couldn’t be home. Kurt would have heard him. Kurt would have heard _something_. Unless, just possibly, Kurt was so busy touching himself and thinking of Finn that he had missed the noise completely. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

His eyes found the floor. Flickered back up to Finn’s face for the briefest moment, then turned away, not wanting to see what was written there. He stared at his blanket, clutching it to himself, his cheeks hot with shame now, his breaths coming hard.

He had thought that being voted Prom Queen had been his most humiliating moment ever; he was wrong. Nothing could possibly compare to this. He was mortified, completely crushed, as he racked his brains for something to say, only coming up with blind panic. He wanted to scream and yell at Finn to get out; to berate him for standing there, for opening the door without knocking. He wanted to shout at him all the horrible things he could think of, but he was trapped by his own guilt: if he accused Finn, somehow Finn would _know_ , just know that Kurt had been perving over him. Hell, he knew already, didn’t he? He had caught Kurt moaning his name like some C-rated porn star.

His eyes started to burn with tears.

“Kurt, I’m so sorry.” Finn repeated, shuffling from one foot to another and looking honestly pained. Oh, sure. This was hard on _him_. Having to deal again with his freaky faggy pseudo-brother who went after him like a horny puppy. Kurt felt a surge of hatred. What about him? He was the one who would never be able to look up at his family again.

“I know I should have knocked, but I wanted to give you a fright. I know it was a dumb shit thing to do. I just, I was going to open the door real quiet and then say ‘hey’ when you weren’t looking, except, except then—and I didn’t know what to do so I just kind of stood there because I was afraid if I closed the door you’d hear the click and—”

“So you just _stood_ there?” Kurt shrieked, his angry voice gaining an edge of hysteria as he clutched the bedsheets closer to his body. “You just stood there and _watched_ like some kind of, some kind of—”

_Oh, you mean like you did to him?_

“I’m sorry!” Finn held his hands up, rapidly slipping into a panic. “I was going to close the door, I promise, I _swear_! It’s just that then you said my name, all distressed and stuff, like you were maybe gonna cry, so I knew you’d busted me and I had to apologise.”

_What?_

Kurt blinked owlishly, his brain having to work extra hard through the turmoil to catch up to the words.

Finn thought Kurt had been calling him out on his staring. Finn hadn’t realised that Kurt was actually moaning his name. Finn hadn’t understood that Kurt was jerking off to thoughts of him.

Kurt blinked some more. It wasn’t possible. There was no way anyone would confuse a moan of pleasure with a reproach. No way in hell. Just how clueless did a person have to be?

Then he remembered that Finn had thought he’d got Quinn pregnant without having sex, and okay. It was actually plausible. Small mercies. Or huge ones.

“I…” he wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted to laugh hysterically. He wanted to sob like a baby.

Finn was wringing his hands in distress. “I just, I’m so so so sorry. That was a major foul on my part. But, you know, I don’t think it’s freaky or anything. I mean we all do it, right?”

_Oh, don’t I know that._

“I…” Kurt croaked again, nodding shakily.

Finn, once he determined that the smaller boy wasn’t going to gut him with a nail file, seemed to gain courage, actually inching closer and daring for a hint of a smile. “I mean I know how it is. When the person you’re dating doesn’t put out. Very much. Which, um, which is, you know, a valid choice. Totally,” he added, to make clear that he wasn’t berating Blaine. “Things get frustrating.” he concluded knowingly.

“Very.” Kurt said, quietly. Finn need never know who exactly was making Kurt frustrated.

A long, awkward silence stretched by.

“So, um, should I let you… finish taking care of it?” Finn said.

Kurt’s eyes went wide at how surreal this was all becoming. “I… don’t think that’s gonna be a problem now. Getting walked in on tends to be a mood-breaker.” he pointed out dryly.

“Dude. Apparently not that much.” Finn said, a little shyly. He nodded in Kurt’s direction, and Kurt followed his eyes to where the covers were still bulging between his legs. Apparently he had had such a desperate hard-on that not even the utter mortification of being interrupted by the object of his fantasies had brought it down completely. He felt his cheeks flame up again, and wait a second, _was Finn staring at his dick?_

He looked up, affronted, and saw the strangest expression on his friend’s face. Finn was flushed, definitely from embarrassment, but there was something else there too, that was… what was it? Kurt couldn’t put a name to it; didn’t even know if it was a bad thing or a good thing, but Finn seemed… intrigued?

“You should, um. I mean you shouldn’t give that up because of me. I’ll just clear off.” he said, seeming to make an effort to stop staring and drag his eyes back to Kurt’s face.

Kurt shook his head, momentarily struck dumb. “No, I—I think I’ll just take a cold shower or something,” he replied nervously, fully expecting it to close the discussion.

But Finn – unpredictable, ridiculous, absurd Finn – shook his head no, like this was some kind of moral discussion. “Dude, no. It’s not right. Pent-up feelings are bad. You should finish it off.”

All of Kurt’s breath left him in one blow as he started seriously wondering if one of them or possibly both had gone mad.

“Finn, are you insane?” he wheezed. “This isn’t up for _discussion_. It’s my… problem, and I’m going to do whatever the hell I want.”

“But I feel so bad about this. I went and interrupted and spoiled it for you. I just want to make it up to you somehow.” Finn protested, looking honestly troubled.

What Finn didn’t know was that at the exact moment he said that, Kurt’s head turned into a festival of elaborate porn fantasies, all featuring Finn Hudson as the protagonist. Well, and glitter. But mostly Finn.

“Uh…” by this point, he was past his capacity for shame. He just wanted Finn to leave before something horribly embarrassing – _more_ horribly embarrassing – happened. “It’s fine. Really. Don’t think about it.”

_Seriously, Finn,_ don’t _think about it_.

“Is it because you feel at a disadvantage?” Finn asked, clearly very proud of his analytical, objective approach. “Because you know, it’s not just you. I do it plenty. There’s nothing wrong.”

The sound that left Kurt’s lips officially classified as a squeak, but Finn was unstoppable in his idiotically well-intentioned crusade for the greater good.

“The only real difference is that I think about chicks and you think about dudes. And I respect that. I mean, I know I didn’t always, but I’m cool with it now. It doesn’t weird me out like it used to.”

Kurt issued a noncommittal noise that could have been “Aha” or “Thanks”.

There was another long, tense silence.

Then Finn seemed to make a decision and asked: “Do you want me to do it, too, so you feel more at ease?”

“WHAT?!” Kurt yelped, then clapped a hand over his mouth and repeated, “ _What_?!”

Finn looked less sure of himself now. “Well… you know. Like, guys sometimes do that? Like, together? Just in a friend way? I mean, you know?”

Kurt really didn’t know. It may or may not have had something to do with the fact that in his past experience, whenever he got within three feet of a boy, they shrank away before they could catch Kurt’s gay cooties. Which made even less sense right now, because in Kurt’s opinion, there was no way that jerking off with another guy was _not_ gay.

Finn inched a little closer. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal. I mean, it’s not like cheating or anything. It’s just, well. Like something you do on your own, but with someone else. I was thinking that maybe it would help with, um. You know, we’ve always been a little uncomfortable with stuff. Well, mostly me. So maybe. I dunno.”

Kurt tried to find his voice, to tell Finn that the two of them jerking off together did _not_ constitute a viable bonding activity, unless Finn’s definition of “bonding” was more interesting than Kurt suspected, but nothing came. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

And then, Gaga help him, Finn was actually sitting down on the edge of the bed. The bed where Kurt was sitting in nothing but his skin. Considering just how many of Kurt’s fantasies had featured such an event, it was surprising that it made him want to cry.

“I guess I just thought, there’s no reason for me not to treat you like one of the guys, right?” Finn shrugged, but even as he said that, there was something off in his voice, like that wasn’t the entire reason why he was doing this. His eyes were darker than Kurt remembered.

“Finn…” Kurt shook his head, and he meant to follow it up with _we are not going to jerk off together_ , but then the sentence took shape in his head and he felt with frightening clarity that if he said it out loud it would result in either his heart caving in on itself or his jumping into Finn’s lap, and the words died in his throat.

“It’s okay.” Finn said, smiling a little, a strange smile, shy and reassuring and a little mischievous at the same time, and he undid the button of his jeans. Kurt’s heart jumped into his throat. Finn went on talking, his voice husky and low. “I won’t look. Promise. You just do whatever it is you do.”

And right then and there it was too much, all that insanity stashed together like that, to the point where Finn’s words made perfect sense and Kurt found himself nodding and blushing and lying back into the pillows, pulling the bedsheets higher up over his legs.

It wasn’t half as awkward as Kurt expected it to be. He closed his eyes and touched himself, and his still-aroused body responded beautifully. He couldn’t see Finn, but he could _feel_ him, his weight shifting on the mattress, his movements reverberating. The strain his nerves had undergone in the past few minutes seemed to make the pleasure even keener.

At one point he cracked his eyes open to steal a look at the other boy. He couldn’t see his crotch area because it was hidden by the bedcovers and Finn’s arm, but he could guess by the movements that Finn was already hard and at it, which was impressive as far as being uninhibited went. His cheeks were bright pink, but he didn’t seem to be embarrassed at all.

True to his word, Finn wasn’t looking, but Kurt was inexplicably sure that he was _listening_. Listening to Kurt’s laboured breathing, to his shifting under the covers. Getting bolder in his pleasure, Kurt sighed, and he saw Finn’s eyes fall closed as he licked his lips, swallowed, _listening_ , and this was without a doubt the hottest thing Kurt had ever seen or done.

After that, neither boy lasted very long. Kurt was simply too worked up to hold out, and Finn seemed to be more for enthusiasm than for stamina. They came one after the other, in rapid succession, Kurt with a soft whimper, Finn with a choked cry.

It was only when Kurt blindly reached out for a box of tissues that he started to come down from the post-orgasmic buzz. He cleaned himself, blood still ringing in his ears as the sweat cooled on his body, and tried to wrap his mind around the fact that he had just jerked off in front of Finn Hudson. This was bad, real bad. It was a fucking disaster. He looked up, suddenly afraid; Finn was going to come to his senses and freak out _hard_ ; he was going to run away screaming and possibly tell their parents, and then never speak to him again. Which was unfair, because this was all his stupid idea anyway—and yeah, Kurt was still having a world of trouble wrapping his mind around _that_ , too.

But Finn just smiled a little ruefully and conspiratorially, and said: “Pass over the tissues?”

“The…? Sure. Sorry. Here…” Kurt handed them over, watching in bafflement as Finn quickly dried his hand and the worst of the mess before tossing the crumpled tissues in the wastebin with a perfect throw that had him grinning in satisfaction.

To his amazement, Kurt could feel a grin spreading on his face in turn. It was all so ridiculous and insane and so very, very wrong, but he felt _good_. He was a naked mess and Finn was playing basketball with dirty tissues, and he didn’t even care.

Finn turned around, his grin widening when he saw Kurt was smiling too. “Told ya it’d work.” He claimed smugly. Then he leaned in and kissed Kurt’s cheek.

Kurt swallowed, hard. _What the flipping hell?_

For all the riot in his mind he couldn’t help raising his eyebrows and asking weakly: “You kiss Puck and Sam on the cheek too, afterwards?”

Finn looked abashed. “Um, no, not really. But their cheeks aren’t as nice as yours.” He directed a small hopeful smile at Kurt.

Oh.

The look they exchanged there and then was altogether one of the most confusing and most exciting moments of Kurt’s life. It was a look that said _Give it some time_. It was a look that said _We’ll talk about it some more, if you want_.

And oh, Kurt wanted. Kurt wanted more than he had ever wanted anything else.

Finn left shortly afterwards, with a last smile and a little wave. He closed the door after himself.

Kurt rested his head into the pillows, taking deep breaths and trying to recover. He felt surprisingly far from upset. What had happened was simply too farfetched for him to start panicking about it. And the invitation he could read in Finn’s eyes gave him a little thrill every time he remembered it.

Of course, when things stood like that, he had to admit to himself that he was far from being over Finn Hudson. But someway, somehow, he felt that was okay.


End file.
